Punks Got Your Heart (Duncan x Reader)

Chris McClain: Not Too Awful Father

     Immediately stepping to the side, your arms folded across your chest and your eyes narrowed. Your father appeared in fear of his life.

    "You jackass, that was my favourite guitar! We could've all been seriously hurt or killed! That would've ruined your new pet project wouldn't it?" You announced, flinging an arm towards the shoreline, where the tide was slowly bringing in the wreckage of the dock. His face softened but that didn't soften the blow of the rowdy laughter that escaped from his lips. Your mind raced back to all the memories with your father over the years. 

    During your childhood, he was often separated from your mother and you due to filming schedules. Whether this was by choice or purely caused by scheduling conflicts, you were never sure of. Your mother never wanted you involved in the business your father had build his livelihood on, probably due to its sketchy nature in the beginning of his newly blossoming career. She did her best to try and involve your father in your life, reassuring you that your father loved you and did what was best for the family. However, slowly, this led to you and your mom's little piece of ice cracking off of your fathers iceberg. 

As the years went on, when you got older and your mom got sick, he came back. The sincerity was always there, no matter how deep it was buried. The love that he showed for you two was there, or at least that's just what you wanted to see. Maybe this was due to your longing to have him back in your life while you were facing the all real reality of being alone in the world before you were even legally your own person. When your mom finally passed, he stepped up into the father role, despite the fact that he wasn't qualified. Maybe, under all that facade, your father was a good person, who tried his best to be a good father and husband. You eyed him laughing before sharply cutting himself off to berate some poor intern on his placement of a boom in the last shot. Or I'm simply the daughter of a sociopath, you thought.

    "I brought all the rest of your guitars with us, just in case something happened." He attempted to reassure you. Starting to walk in the opposite direction of the rest of the campers, you turned your head around and motioned.

    "Shouldn't we be going that way?" He shook his head.

    "We're going to your trailer to check out some footage. Plus, the less time I'm making you stay in the structurally unsound death sheds, the better." He said with a wink. "You're welcome."  You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

    "We're all going to die down here." You quoted, softly with a light attempt at a British accent. Releasing his arm and looking over at you, he looked confused. "Resident Evil, Red Queen." You offered before waving your hand at him, dismissing his ignorance for your favourite genre of film.

    "Weirdo..." You both scoffed at the same time as we reached the door of your fathers trailer. Before either one of you could reach forward, the door flung open, hitting hard against the outside of the trailer.

   "'Bout time the both of you got here! There are bears on this island! BEARS!" Chef further enunciated as Chris shrugged and made his way inside, barely squeezing past Chef who took up most of the doorway. The older man's face broke into a smile. "Come on in! Before Chris "I'm-In-Love-With-Myself" McClain sentences you to die in the woods." Graciously, he stepped past and you climbed up the steps, walking inside. It was luxurious, especially considering the studio funding this project paid for this. The trailer took up the space of a double wide, hardwood floors extending to the kitchen where linoleum began. The living room was fully furnished with a large t.v. on a wooden stand facing the entrance. A large plush carpet filled the space in between that and the deep blue couch that you reached out and touched as Chef closed the door behind us. "I made lunch!" He said in the booming voice that never seemed to change volume or tone over the past lifetime that you knew him. Following him into the kitchen space, the marble replicant countertops shown in the midday sun that shone in through the many windows along the walls of the trailer. Huddled over a large pot was your father, scooping a rice dish out of the pot with a large spoon into his mouth. Chris smiled and chuckled, sending bits of rice flying as Chef placed a large hand on his head and pushed him away. After settling down at the kitchen island, your father and you, sitting across from one another as Chef gave us each large bowls of rice pilaf, Chef joined your father.

    "Alright, so here we go." Chris said through a full mouth as he opened up a laptop sitting on the island. As soon as he started it up, dozens of tiny boxes appeared all over the screen. "These are all the feeds we have stationed around the island that are currently active." Scrolling the mouse over a few, he stopped at what appeared to be a random one. The square expanded to fill the entire screen that showed the outside of the two cabins. Chris pointed to the one on the left, "That's the Screaming Gophers," Moving his hand to the right, "and the Killer Bass."

       "I thought the cabins weren't co-ed?" You asked, as you continued eating your meal, relishing in the last one that wouldn't make you wanna vomit. He waved his hand at your question and began navigating through the other feeds. Girls side, boys side, then repeating.

      "There's a wall in each cabin that separates the two." Chris explained.

    "Oof, that's not a lot of space for quite a lot of people." You thought back to all the belongings your dad had told you that you'd need for this show.

    "Don't worry, kiddo, we have most of your stuff here, except for that one bag from the boat. Got you a spare bedroom here just in case you get voted off early but we still need you around." Chris explained, jerking his thumb towards the back of the trailer.

    "Three bedroom trailer, hardwood floor, full kitchen? They really have some high hopes for this summer camp disaster." You teased as your fathers face became serious.

    "This is it, [Y/N]. After everything I've done, the figure skating gig, the bullshit dating shows, this is what is going to put the McClain name on the map." He said with complete sincerity that you almost couldn't believe was real. You looked over at Chef for reassurance and he just nodded. "And that's why I brought you here." Chris reached out and put his hand over yours, you having to put effort into not automatically retracting your hand back. "I want you in on the ground floor, joining in on the family business. You're a McClain and I need to share this with you. This is finally going to make everything I've done worth it. For me." You nodded slowly and before you allowed yourself to dig into any serious emotions you held towards your father, you pulled your hand back. "For us." He sighed out at the retraction of your hand. 

    "You still killed my guitar." You said firmly as he rolled his eyes and threw a hand into the air. He stood up and started walking to the back of the trailer.

    "He tries, you know, to make up for it all." Chef attempted to lobby on behalf of your father as he started to gather the dirty dishes. Despite all the trials your father had put Chef through with his harebrained schemes, the man always stood by him. 

    "Trying and accomplishing are two different things." You quoted a line your mother had said to your father numerous times, a phrase that was always present in your childhood memories of your parents. Chef sighed from behind you as your father reemerged carrying something you thought you lost. Sprinting out of your seat, you ran up to him. "No way." Reaching out, you took into your hands the exact replica of what you had just used as a weapon an hour before. Chris smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck.

    "I bought an extra and brought it along, just in case. Old camp and all, dangerous environment, no biggie." He explained as you placed the guitar onto the couch and hugged your father. 

    "Thank you!" You pulled back before he had the chance to hug you back. Slipping the guitar over your shoulder, you made your way towards the door. "Thanks for dinner, Chef." The man nodded from the kitchen. "Can't go blowing my cover now." You explained earning a warm smile from your dad.

    "Give 'em hell, kiddo."